1/2/2009
First time?
No, I've been nervous lots of times.
-- Airplane!
I come from a generation of worriers. Organized worriers, too, which gives the added bonus of fretting about silly things but in a logical, methodical order. The order gives us a sense of control over everything, you see, while we are at once losing control of our ability to stop worrying about things that don’t merit the effort we put into them.
That being said, I have spent the past several weeks worrying about Spain, but in an organized way. After I made a detailed list of things I’m bringing—including itemizing the things to go inside my purse—I spent the rest of my vacation wondering whether or not I should bring my laptop. I did this because it was easier than worrying about how I’m going to handle myself in Spain because it’s easier to think about laptops getting lost.
At a moment’s notice I can give you the mental to-do list of things I still need to do before I leave for Spain because I go over it at least a couple times a day in my mind. My clothes and things are rolled up and ready to pack, but they aren’t in the suitcases yet; I need a haircut, a gift for my host family, a disposable camera or two (because worrying about my own didn’t sound like fun), new headphones; I still have some work to finish up for my boss at college; and oh yeah, I’ve managed to schedule in a pre-trip birthday party since I’m turning 21 while I’m in Spain. That’s tomorrow, and hopefully I can shut my mind off enough to enjoy it.
Amongst all this structured stress and chaos, though, there are times when I actually get to sit down and remember the reason for my worry: I’m going to Spain. I started Spanish classes in seventh grade and I haven’t gone a year without taking one since. I instantly fell in love with the language and though I didn’t intend on majoring in it in college, I wound up doing it anyway. There’s something soothing about the language, something that lulls that inner worrier to sleep, wraps it up in a soft, gentle language that rises and falls in a comforting rhythm that at times matches my own heartbeat.
Thank God I’m going to Spain. My inner worrier needs to rest after these past few weeks.
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